I still find it difficult to identify as poly... probably because my life doesn't resemble that of most poly folks I know. I really have no hippie tendencies other than long flowy skirts and a yearly trip to Burning Man. I don't play any role-playing games and know just enough about them to make fun of them. While I occasionally fantasize about communal living, I'm a pragmatist at heart and know most homes don't have enough room for more than one masturbatorium. I enjoy meeting new people but Shiny Thing Syndrome is rare for me. I don't participate in the local fetish community, don't attend “play parties” and it is ridiculously difficult to get me into bed. Granted, I realize there are generalizations here but those of you with any exposure to a poly community probably have some inkling of what I speak.
I'm a very emotionally complex person and in spite of (or maybe because of), I really try to keep my life as simple as possible. My version of simple probably differs from that of the average bear as I am lucky enough to have two husbands. I recognize that the thought of having two men in my life might engender the idea that dirtiness and naughtiness abound. A bedroom strewn with silicone animals, a rainbow of lubes, and a St. Andrews cross where the dining room table should be. Yeah, not so much. There have occasionally been evenings that might make a Mormon blush, but the reality of my poly-life is strangely un-exciting. We go to movies, out to dinners, art museums, and take vacations together. At least once a month, we have “Family Day” which includes camping out at one of our homes with movies, games, and home-cooked food. Although I have frequently joked about being The Vagina Timeshare, it's all quite disturbingly, boringly wholesome.
My life works. It's an odd amalgamation of three people who are kind of similar and kind of different and content to exist in the unconventional family that we've created for nearly 5 years.
And I suppose that's a large part of why I really have no desire to expand it. Yes, I know this is taboo in Poly-Land. I know I'm supposed to want to experience all life has to offer in the form of love and genitals. (Have I mentioned I don't much care for buffets either?) I'm know I'm supposed to want to send my husbands lovingly off to the nearest band of horny cheerleaders and cook breakfast for them all the next morning as I tenderly pick pieces of pom-pom out of their hair. I could be fairly accused of being addicted to stability. Stability and I could easily ride off into the sunset and then perhaps go out for a steak dinner followed by cuddling. I am, indeed, that girl.
Despite my wicked attachment to stability, I am aware that trying to hold onto it is akin to saddling Gary Busey. I know, in the back of my mind, that there is the distinct possibility that things will change. I am also aware that the only constant is unmerciful change. I know that my white knuckle grip on the reality I know can always be whisked away to the land of Ha-Ha-Look-At-The-White-Girl-Cry. You'd think this would change my outlook. While I am continually working on “letting go”, I yams what I yam. To deny that would be counter-productive and besides... who else is going to wake the sun up in the morning?
No comments:
Post a Comment